Love Potioning Gone Wrong
by Right What Is Wrong
Summary: You may have read fics in which Ron and Ginny attempt to Love Potion Harry and Hermione, but never quite like this. Oneshot. Crack. OOC!Weasleys; Love-Potion!Weasleys-bashing.)


**Author's Note** : A combination of idiot!Weasleys and love-potion!Weasleys. As such, OOC!Weasleys. Also, brain-bleach advisory.

* * *

Harry sighed and put down his fork.

Even though the breakfast today was unusually appetizing (albeit strangely sickly-sweet), he had lost his appetite. How could any mere meal compare to the deliciousness of Ginny Weasley? Ginny, whom he dared not approach... it might get awkward, what with her brother being his best mate... her very jealous brother...

"Oi," said brother said, peering over his shoulder, "if you're not having that, can I have some?"

Harry gave a great melancholy sigh. "I suppose," he murmured, dwelling upon Ginny Weasley's luscious locks. Her cherry lips, her chocolate eyes, her brown-sugar freckles, her... On second thought, he might have lost his appetite, but it seemed as though his appetite had not lost him...

It was too late for regrets, however, as Ron had already scarfed down the remainder of his meal. As Hermione complained of his table manners and Ron defended himself through a final mouthful of food, Harry drifted off into fantasies of the one, the only, the lovely -

"-Ronald Bilius Weasley, where are you going? I wasn't done!"

Broken out of his daze, Harry looked up to see Ron heading out along with the other well-fed students streaming out of the Great Hall; the monster in Harry's chest perked up as it saw a flash of long red hair, only to sulk as she disappeared through the doorway... with Ron heading after her in hot pursuit. Harry frowned at that, thinking something seemed not quite right, until it occurred to him that Ron was probably going to lecture her about fooling around with strange boys. Conflicted between the part of him that eagerly agreed she shouldn't be fooling around with other boys and the part that protested she should be fooling around with him, he descended into a melancholy sulk once more, as was his wont.

His head jerked up again as he heard a scream, followed by a flurry of furious curses.

* * *

"-and not only that, but you're a horrid kisser," Ginny continued to rant at her bed-bound brother. "Honestly, forget about Granger, if Brown puts up with that, she's a keeper -"

Ron crossed his arms and scowled. "How was I supposed to know you'd already dosed his food?" he snapped. "You ought to have told me!"

"I wasn't expecting you to eat it, you great git," she snapped back. "Merlin's beard, Ron, how would you feel if I ate Granger's treacle tart once you'd dosed it?"

"I wouldn't hex you in the face," he said sourly.

"I wouldn't proposition you before a horde of goggling students, you moron!" she snarled, then checked quickly over her shoulder for Madame Pomfrey. Once she was certain the coast was clear, she turned back. "You're damned lucky they fell for the Imperius excuse! How can you be so susceptible, anyway? I've been dosing Harry for months and he hasn't responded! What is he, gayer than Dumbledore?"

"You know," Ron said slowly, "that would explain his obsession with Malf-"

"Oh, shut up and help me plan!"

* * *

The House-Elves of Hogwarts were of course happy to help nice Missy Weasley put a special spice in Mister Potter's soup - once they'd verified it was nontoxic, of course. It was being so nice of her to provide special home-cooked ingredients. Such niceness must run in the family - the older ones remembered when Missy Prewett had done the same thing for Mister Weasley.

However, House-Elf standards was not being what they were in that day, oh no, especially after that strange Missy Granger wandered around trying to put funny ideas in good House-Elves' heads. House-Elves was thinking they had some rights. In particular, House-Elves was thinking that, if Mister Potter should have some of this nice new spice, House-Elves who was being the ones who was cooking his food in the first place - they deserved a bit of it, too.

And, though it was being a disgrace to all House-Elves everywhere, they ended up going through all of it. After all, spice was tasting so nice and sweet, and was tasting in different good ways for each House-Elf who was tasting it...

And that was how Ginny Weasley ended up fleeing the Great Hall, shrieking in horror, as a small army of amorous House-Elves chased after her, serenading her and pelting her with their unwashed loin-napkins and other such things amorous House-Elves did.

Harry frowned after them. "You know," he said, poking his strangely-flavorless food with his fork, "I don't know what they see in her, really."

* * *

"Ronniekins is hearing Miss Ginny Weasley is being sexy, sexy elf," Ron said to his sister as she huddled under the infirmary bedsheets in the fetal position.

"Keep it up, Won-Won," came the muffled voice, "and it'll be you in the Hospital Wing."

* * *

Harry sighed and put down his fork.

His heart ached for his one true love Ginny, so recently terrified by that swarm of House-Elves... Or maybe it was aching for his poor wounded mind's-eye. He'd never needed to hear Dobby shouting that she had a "bodacious bum"-

"Oi," came a familiar voice, "if you're not having that, can I-" Suddenly the voice cut off, and Harry looked up to find Ron looking as though he'd just sighted an Acromantula. "Er," Ron said after a moment, now seeming proud of himself for some unspoken wisdom, "Hermione, can I have some of yours?"

Hermione stood up abruptly, tears in her eyes. "All you want from me is my food! Is that it? Is that it, Ronald?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel and left the Great Hall. "Go eat Lavender's food, for all I care!"

Both Harry and Ron stared after her, and then Ron shrugged and dove in. "Witches," he mumbled through a mouthful of food, and accepted Lavender's eagerly-held-out forkful as well.

A short time later, he took off without explanation, and Harry did not see him for the rest of the day. In fact, it was not until he returned to the Gryffindor Common Room that he had a hint of Ron's whereabouts.

The other boys from his year stood outside the dormitory door, all looking as though a morbid urge was compelling them to look in, yet their stomachs could not bear to do so. "Don't go in there, Harry," Seamus Finnegan begged him. "It's - it's real bad."

"What's wrong?" Harry asked, his stomach lurching; he was acutely aware of Ron's absence. And of... Was someone groaning to the tune of "Weasley is Our King?"

"You don't want to know," Seamus repeated, his eyes as haunted as an Azkaban veteran's.

Dean Thomas had succumbed to curiosity and was peering around the corner. "Is that... a Viktor Krum action figure he's using to-"

"Dean, forget Potter - _I_ don't want to know!"

Harry's nose wrinkled. He was detecting a strange stench which, having lived in a dormitory full of teenage boys for years, he did know - he just didn't know how it applied to this situation. Or to a Viktor Krum action figure. or that oddly tuneful moaning. "Look, you lot, I'm going in there," he said, pushing past them.

"No, Harry!" Neville cried, trying to push Harry back, but it was too late. The image was seared into his memory.

Suffice to say it did involve a Viktor Krum figurine, a moaned performance of "Weasley is Our King", a full-length mirror, and... and other things. Things he didn't want to remember, yet could never forget.

Oh, and a very amorous Ron Weasley.

Suffice to say that Harry had heard that all the shrinks said the way to overcome jealousy and insecurity was to love yourself more, and Ron had evidently taken that to heart. With great gutso. In spades.

Oh, Merlin's beard, he did not want to remember just how much...

* * *

After midnight in the Gryffindor Common Room, Ron and Ginny sat before the fire in silence. They did not make eye contact.

At last, Ginny shook her head and sat back in her armchair. "So," she said, "how does it feel to officially be the greatest wanker to have ever-"

"Shut. Up."

* * *

Draco Malfoy, hair lank and skin almost translucent, slunk through the piles of rubbish in the Room of Hidden Things.

He needed something to help him out. Some aid from on high. His career as a would-be murderer had failed so disastrously, he'd been tempted to take credit for Weasley's various "Imperius-induced" mishaps just for the sake of pretending he was a halfway-competent Dark wizard. But an ego boost was not quite worth life in Azkaban.

If only... He cast his eyes up to the ceiling. If only he could stumble across something in here that could help him. If only he could find something, anything, he might be able to use on Dumbledore...

Wait! What was that smell? It smelled like... Well, like Zabini's awful cologne, and Bulstrode's sweaty armpits, and exploded potion residue...

Perfect! A broad smile spread across his face as he pushed through a pile of rumpled girls' magazines ("Sirius Black, 1979's Most Eligible Bachelor") and emerged into an alcove in which a small cauldron simmered, stinking to high heaven. Unable to believe his luck, Draco fished a vial out of his pockets and immediately began siphoning off a bit for himself. Anything smelling so wonderfully horrid had to be a potent poison he could dump into Dumbledore's damn lemon drops!

* * *

"You wanted me, Headmaster?" Ginny asked, frowning, as she seated herself in Dumbledore's office. Was this about the Potter inheritance? She was working on it, honestly, even if her last potion-batch had yielded less useful solution than she'd expected...

"Oh, you have no idea how much I want you, my dear," the old man crooned, an uncanny gleam in his eye.

"H... Headmaster? Sir?"

"No need to be so formal," he said, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. Judging by the few left in his dish, it was far from his first that night. "Call me Albus. Or Percival, Wulfric, or Brian, if you prefer. I have many names, after all. I rather think it's a waste I don't use them more."

"Sir, I... I don't understand."

"Nor do I," Dumbledore said brightly. "I thought - well, you must forgive me, Ginerva, I was under the impression that my interests only lay... elsewhere. But love can strike at any age, can it not?"

Ice shot up her spine. "S-sir, I'm afraid there's been a mistake," she stammered, standing up and backing away. "I don't -"

"You don't need to understand, my dear," he said, standing with her. "I've always had a weakness for the fiery, passionate, fun-loving type..."

"B-but sir, I -"

He waved his wand, and suddenly her hair changed from a fierce red mane to a cascade of golden ringlets. "Ah, much better," Dumbledore said gleefully. "I do love Transfiguration." His eyes shone with azure madness. "If it's not too much to ask, could you speak in German? Just read the lyrics to Ode to Joy, I won't know the difference-"

The door burst open, and Ginny took the opportunity to run for dear life, nearly knocking over the other person in the doorway on her way out.

"Er," Harry said, recovering as Ginny Weasley shot past him like a Golden Snitch. "Was I interrupting something?"

Dumbledore stared at him with a look of naked loathing somewhere between Dudley on a diet and Snape having to give him a good grade. "Ah well," he said more to himself than to Harry. "True love waits. I must be patient..." He folded his hands together, schooled his face into an expression of benign pomposity, and began to lecture Harry on the latest episode of "Days of Our Riddles".

* * *

"You're doing it wrong, Ron!"

"Oh yeah? Do it yourself, then!" Ron roared back. "Oh, that's right, you haven't had the classes-"

"And I still wouldn't have managed to give myself a moustache!"

Ginny, by now a thoroughly bearded woman, trembled in rage for a moment longer before breaking down in tears. "Oh, I don't care any more," she wailed. "Forget all this! Forget 'Miss Potter'! I'm becoming a lesbian, and moving to Timbuktu!" She sobbed into her sweater, which somehow had acquired furry tentacles during Ron's dubious re-Transfiguration efforts: they reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks, but somehow that did not improve her mood.

Ron, at the best of times not a master of social graces, stared awkwardly at the ground. "You might have a point," he said at last. "Honestly, the only reason I'm going after Granger is that Mum insists - d'you think she hates me? I mean, having to live with Granger ranting in my ear every hour of every day of every year of all my bloody life..."

"That's because she doesn't think you can make it on your own, Ron." Ginny sniffled and pulled at her long and multi-hued beard. "Right now, you won't find me disagreeing."

"You too?" he said crossly. "Oi, can't I get any support around here?"

"What about me?" she moaned. "I've gotten everyone but Harry! What'll be next - an acromantula?"

Ron went white. "Don't even joke about that."

"But honestly, Ron, why? Why do things keep going wrong?" She tore at her hair, part of which came off in her hand and began wriggling. She threw it away with a shriek. "This isn't anything any other Pureblood family hasn't done several times over!"

"Yeah, well, we drew the short straw, I guess." He took a deep breath. "Uh - look on the bright side. At least we haven't gotten You-Know-Who yet, right?"

She threw a live hairball at him.

* * *

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to either of them, Malfoy had slopped a bit of the "poison" onto a certain diadem in his haste to exit the Room of Hidden Things and put to use his new find, and the effects would be diffusing back to the original owner shortly...

* * *

 **Author's Note** : And I there I stop, because that is as far as the escalation can unreasonably go without contriving a way to get a Hungarian Horntail, a Dementor, or Dolores Umbridge back onto Hogwarts' grounds.

(I suppose there's always the Giant Squid, but that is just _**wrong**_.)


End file.
